


When I Dream of Dying

by MajorTrouble



Series: Sugar & Spice Bingo 2021 [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Competence Kink, Gen, M/M, Rare Characters, Rare Pairings, Robbery, Running Away, Running from the law, Stolen Identity, Taverns, lusty bards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29872869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorTrouble/pseuds/MajorTrouble
Summary: Written for the Sugar and Spice Bingo Prompt - Meet Ugly-------------------------------------------------It wasn’t as if he’d actually done anything. A month ago he’d left for a guest lecture spot at Oxenfurt and returned to find himself a wanted man. Apparently a doppler had taken his place a few days after he’d left, and managed to use his position and contacts to fleece several of the nobles out of coin and jewels and then promptly fled the city. A warrant had immediately been issued for his arrest. Somehow he made it back to his house without inciting the guards, only to have his housekeeper nearly skewer him with a fire poker before he managed to convince her that he hadn’t stolen anything.
Relationships: Arnaghad/Valdo Marx
Series: Sugar & Spice Bingo 2021 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2196282
Comments: 13
Kudos: 16
Collections: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo, The Faded Texts





	When I Dream of Dying

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to [minutiae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minutiae/pseuds/minutiae) who asked for this pairing. I hope you like it! <3

Valdo was in trouble. This was an unusual sensation for the troubadour. Mostly, he lived a charmed life, surrounded by the trappings of wealth and privilege, wanting for very little. He had a patron who paid him a monthly stipend and gave him a modest little townhouse to live and work in. He had a cook, and a housekeeper, and a houseboy who looked after the more mundane parts of day to day living. All he had to do was entertain at certain balls and banquets and the occasional garden party, and teach the aristocracy’s children in the ways of music and poetry and history. 

So running from the law, lute case thumping painfully against his back, lace cuffs ripped and tattered, was not something he was intimately familiar with. To be honest, he half-expected this to be some curse where he’d switched places with his best friend and intimate rival, Jaskier, and was now running for _his_ life. Instead, he could hear the shouting of the city guard getting closer as panic gripped his chest, squeezing what air he could get into his lungs and making it that much more difficult to get away.

It wasn’t as if he’d actually _done_ anything. A month ago he’d left for a guest lecture spot at Oxenfurt and returned to find himself a wanted man. Apparently a doppler had taken his place a few days after he’d left, and managed to use his position and contacts to fleece several of the nobles out of coin and jewels and then promptly fled the city. A warrant had immediately been issued for his arrest. Somehow he made it back to his house without inciting the guards, only to have his housekeeper nearly skewer him with a fire poker before he managed to convince her that he hadn’t stolen anything. 

_If I actually paid the woman, I’d dock her salary for not being able to tell the difference between an imposter and the real thing_ , he thought to himself. _One would think there would be some glaring omissions._

With this new information, he’d tried to speak to his patron and explain the situation, but unfortunately the man hadn’t even let him speak - _which, rude_ \- before calling the guards. Hence why he was running through the cobblestone streets, lungs seizing with every breath, trying to think of the best way to get out of this ridiculous situation. 

_I’m going to tell Jaskier about this and he’s going to write a song and then I’m going to have to add murder to my misdeeds,_ he decided as he flattened himself against a building and slid along the edge of it until he could look down the narrow alley running alongside. Seeing no one in the immediate vicinity he slipped down to the far end and wedged himself behind some conveniently stacked barrels. Afternoon was melting into night, and here, in the claustrophobic crush of buildings that made up the poorer parts of the city, darkness descended fast. Less than an hour passed before the only illumination was by sporadic torchlight and Valdo felt confident enough to leave his hiding place. He could no longer hear his pursuers, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that meant he was in the clear. 

_They’ll be watching the gates_ , he thought grimly. _I’ll need to find another way out._

The building he’d hidden himself beside turned out to be a small tavern. It was still early enough in the evening that there weren’t many patrons yet, and when Valdo ventured inside, he set himself up in a quiet corner with a mug of extremely terrible ale. He had no idea how he was going to get out of the city, but drinking seemed like a good alternative to thinking at the moment and he still had enough coin to last him a while if he was careful. 

He watched as the tavern slowly filled up. Most of the patrons were working class from the nearby mills and businesses. There were a few travellers - obvious with their packs slung over their shoulders and weeks of road dirt - who bargained for the tiny rooms available at the top of a rather rickety-looking staircase. 

Valdo was into his third pint, staring forlornly into its depths when the entire tavern went silent around him. Immediately he looked towards the entrance, heart in his throat, certain the guards had found him. Instead, just inside the doorway stood an enormously tall man with dark hair in plaits framing a square face. His head nearly brushed the soot-stained ceiling of the establishment and Valdo had the bizarre thought that he must have come through the entrance sideways, given how broad his shoulders were. Sunken eyes swept around the room, as if assessing everyone in it, his deeply bronzed skin reflecting what little light there was. He wore heavy armour draped in furs, and there were two swords strapped to his back, their hilts just peeking over his right shoulder. 

Scattered whispers swept through the room. _Witcher_. 

The mountain of a man stalked over to the bar, and in the near-silence Valdo heard him order ale and stew in a quiet, subdued voice that didn’t really match his physique at all. He watched as the Witcher took his meal and sequestered himself in the darkest corner. Slowly, as it became apparent nothing else interesting was going to happen, conversations started back up and the noise resumed its previous level. 

Valdo watched the Witcher and started plotting. 

He knew a few things about Witchers. Namely that Jaskier wouldn’t shut up about them. But also that they tended towards being fair-minded, and the monstrous stories made up about them were just that - stories. The other bard had regaled him with seemingly endless epic tales of his time with the Wolf Witchers and Valdo was half convinced Jaskier was sleeping with all of them. The way he got all starry-eyed and breathless made Valdo want to roll his eyes so hard they fell out the back of his head. Now, he was grudgingly grateful for the knowledge as he surreptitiously kept an eye on the other man, who seemed to be ignoring the room at large in favour of his bowl of stew. 

They worked for coin, that part of the tales at least was true, and Valdo had enough to spare that he could pay this hulking shadow of a man to get him out of the city. Then, maybe, he could work on clearing his name. Valdo sighed. He Just wanted to go back to his easy little life and sleep in his ridiculously comfortable bed, and forget any of this nonsense had happened. 

As he sat feeling sorry for himself, he didn’t notice until it was too late that the Witcher had disappeared. How a man so large could move so quietly and leave without causing the same fuss as he had on his way in, Valdo had no idea. He bolted out of his seat and wove his way through the now completely inebriated patrons to the entrance. Bursting out into the cold night air, he shivered violently as he looked up and down the near-empty street, just catching a glimpse of the back of a head of braided hair as the Witcher turned down an alleyway.

If Valdo had been in his right mind - and not worried about guards and his reputation and what the everloving _fuck_ he was going to do now that he was a wanted man - he would have moved with more caution as he followed his quarry. As it was, when he hurried to catch up, only a handful of steps behind the Witcher, he did not expect the massive hand that wrapped itself around his throat and dragged him down into the dark, slamming him back against the rough-hewn side of a building. Dazed, he looked up into pale yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the faint light coming from the end of the alley. When he opened his mouth to speak, the hand at his throat squeezed harder and all that came out was a sort of ragged wheeze. His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the thick forearm, trying to push the immovable mountain away enough to breathe. 

The Witcher regarded him impassively. Valdo had the sudden realization that if he but twitched his fingers, that would be the end of Valdo’s life - his neck snapped and his body left to the half-wild dogs that roamed the streets hereabouts. For a brief moment he thought about fighting, but instead did what his senses were screaming at him not to.

He relaxed in the Witcher’s grip, still staring the man in the eyes, willing him to understand.

He watched as surprise floated across his expression before he, too, relaxed, allowing Valdo to breathe, though he didn’t fully remove his hand. 

“What do you want, boy?” And oh, Valdo should _not_ be shivering at the way that quiet, controlled voice sounded so close to his ear, especially as he was still taking ragged breaths and was sure his throat was going to bruise horribly. “Am I a novelty to you? Some kind of freak you’ve become fascinated with?” The timbre of his voice didn’t change, but despite the relative flatness of the tone it somehow seemed more dangerous.

Valdo tried to make an indignant noise in his throat and ended up coughing instead. Seemed like there was no more singing in his immediate future. That was going to be a bit of a problem. 

“Of course not.” He tried not to wince at how rough his voice sounded. _Damn. I’m going to sound like Jaskier after a night out at the Rosemary_. “I want to hire you.”

Again that look of surprise. “What for?”

“I’ve been framed for crimes against the nobility here and I need to get out of the city unnoticed. I have coin to pay you,” he added hastily as the Witcher furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Framed? By whom?” And it was Valdo’s turn to act surprised. Maybe Jaskier had been right. Maybe Witcher’s had a profound sense of justice. “And how do I know you’re telling the truth? This is an awfully convenient meeting.” Or maybe not.

“A doppler. Took my place when I went to Oxenfurt for a month,” Valdo replied promptly. “And you know I’m telling the truth because you can smell a lie. Or has my ill-fated rival been spinning tales about that as well?” He looked the Witcher up and down, a clear challenge there. 

“No, that’s correct. Though hard to tell in someone I’ve just met.” He shrugged, finally stepping back and releasing Valdo completely. “Two hundred crowns to get you safe beyond the city’s walls. Fifty a day past that.”

Valdo scoffed. “That’s robbery. One hundred to get me out and thirty a day.”

The Witcher seemed to think about this before countering. “One fifty.”

Valdo rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He stuck his hand out. “You’ll get your money once we’re out of sight of the walls.”

That caused another furrowing of eyebrows, but a reluctant nod. He shook Valdo’s hand before jerking his chin further down the alley. “My horse is this way. We’ll leave now. Best to do this under cover of dark.”

“I suppose. The gates will be closed at this hour. How do you propose we remedy that? I’m not above arson.” Valdo followed closely behind as the Witcher led the way to a ramshackle little stable where a horse taller even than the mountain of a man was placidly nosing its way through a bucket of oats. 

This, at least, earned him a soft laugh. “I know a way. Might have to get a little muddy.” He worked quickly to tack up the horse, slinging several bags across the saddle and securing them in place. “What am I to call you, then?”

“Valdo. And you? I can’t very well keep calling you Witcher, or Mountain in my head. That seems a bit rude, if accurate,” Valdo added absently. 

The Witcher huffed another laugh before clicking his tongue at the horse and moving away from the huddled buildings and further into the dark. 

“Arnaghad. Though I’m curious how you know about Witchers.”

“Hmm. I suppose you’ve heard of Jaskier the bard?” He waited as Arnaghad nodded. “Well that little shit is a friend of mine and spends every opportunity he’s not in someone’s bed regaling them with tales of Witchers.” Valdo blew out a breath threw his nose derisively. “If his songs weren’t so popular, someone would have murdered the loud-mouthed idiot by now.”

“Something tells me it might have been you.”

Valdo surprised himself by laughing sharply. “No, I’d only maim him a little. His cock’s too nice for me to give up completely.” He was gratified to see the sharp look the Witcher gave him. _Interesting. Now that’s worth pursuing._

“Ah. I… see,” Arnaghad said drily. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you for reading!!


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